


What hurts the most is that he knows he can't change it

by sootonthecarpet



Series: Watson has a lot of feels okay. (I will think of a better title.) [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Diary/Journal, M/M, Monologue, Mutually Unrequited, The Reigate Puzzle, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootonthecarpet/pseuds/sootonthecarpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Holmes is injured during the events of The Reigate Puzzle, Watson attempts to sort out his feelings and comes to the same conclusion as always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What hurts the most is that he knows he can't change it

**Author's Note:**

> Slight spoilers for the canon story The Reigate Puzzle. And by slight I mean I tell you who did the murder. If you're going to read this despite a lack of familiarity with the story, let me mention that Holmes gets attacked--one person attempts to strangle him, the other happens to twist his wrist while trying to remove something from his hand. Also, REIG begins with Watson taking Holmes on vacation after Holmes got super tired and depressed after a massive case.

_“Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has been a distinct success, and I shall certainly return much invigorated to Baker Street to-morrow."_

Doubtless I was very glad to hear him say it. I have never liked to see my friend unwell in any way, nor to dwell on the fact that his profession might easily take him from me.

Had I thought to follow the Cunninghams from the room, I could have prevented his being injured. 

I was relieved to see Holmes in higher spirits. I allow myself to grow accustomed to the stern, strong genius with the iron control, and to witness his inevitable falls back to humanity—it ranges from jarring to excruciating. Yet I have seldom seen him physically injured, excepting a few bumps and scratches. I had begun to allow myself the fantasy that his body, as well as his mind, would be always in perfect working order. Seeing him depressed and exhausted was painful, but even though that fog cleared, for quite some time he maintained evidence of his attempted murder in the distinct form of bruises around his neck. I do not think he was even aware of it much of the time. Although he can at times break into my very thoughts, he either did not realize or did not understand the meaning of my continual glances at his neck. When we were out, or receiving visitors, he would take pains to wear a high collar or a scarf, but I am sure he did not do this for my sake but rather simply to help convince the rest of the world that he was as I often wish he were. Untouchable. Invulnerable. A perfect person.

I do not like to be reminded of his mortality. The image of him beset by those murderers, father and son, is still far too clear in my mind. I sometimes even dream about it, painful dreams that leave me shaken and unsure. 

It is likely that his profession will be the end of him, but I never wish to see him choose another. The only thing I could ask for is to be able to protect him. 

Even from himself.

I cannot help but feel, often, that I am responsible for certain moods of his. That if I only tried to care for him a little more, I might be able to fix it. I am well aware that this is folly, but when he is distressed, I am plagued by guilt.

He does not, and never will, care for me in the way that I care for him. That I thank God for—to feel as I do would doubtless be the ruin of him. It is probably not advisable for me to remain close to the object of my affections, but surely the only harm it does is to myself so long as it remains unrequited. And there is no question of that. Even my feelings of friendship seem unrequited at times. Oh, I know that is bitter of me, but it is the truth.

To continue to stay with and serve him when I love him and he views me as nothing more than a practicality. Perhaps I am simply mad.

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be hurt/comfort fluff! I have no idea what happened.
> 
> Watson's I-can't-cure-his-depressive-moods angst inspired by several of my poor friends who have that sort of feels about me.


End file.
